If he was going to break, this would be the time. Few ever lost it in the heat of the moment. It was always afterward, once they had time to think. Then the windows were shut and the lace curtains drawn. Royce watched silently. The day before he might have taunted him, tried to push Hadrian over the edge. Instead, he just waited. He felt no sympathy-no one ever had for him. The moment stretched as Hadrian stood in the rain, looking out across the valley, not seeing, just staring.
Then he bent over and plucked a berry.
In a few minutes he returned with a cupped hand. “Blueberries,” he said, sitting down beside him. Royce tried one. Tart. He realized that while his stomach was better it wasn’t perfect.
“So what’s your story?” Hadrian asked.
“My what?”
“Your story-your history.”
“I don’t have one.”
“Do you know who your parents were?”
“No. My earliest memory”-Royce paused to recall-“was fighting a dog for food.”
“How old?”
He shrugged. “I don’t even know how old I am now. I was at a workhouse-a place for orphans. I escaped. I was five or maybe six by then. Stole my food after that, ate a lot better as a result. Got in trouble pretty quick.”
“City watch?”
“Wolves.”
Hadrian stared at him, confused. “What is this about wolves?”
Royce tried a second berry. Sweeter. “A kids’ gang. Finest group of pickpockets under the age of twelve. There are a lot of orphans in Ratibor. Competition is fierce. Must have been fifteen rival groups fighting for hunting rights. And there I was going it alone-oblivious. I didn’t stand a chance. Still, I was better at stealing. The Wolves saw me. I was in their area and they didn’t like it, so they offered me a deal. I could be drowned in the cistern, leave the city entirely-which was a death sentence at my age-or join them.”
“How were they?”
“Like anyone-only more so. Nice until you have something they want. They kept me alive.” He plucked another berry from Hadrian’s palm. “How about you? How’d you learn to fight like that?”
“My father. He started training me almost from the day I was born. Day and night, no days off, not even Wintertide. Not that there was much else to do in Hintindar, but he was fanatical. Combat was like a religion to him. I figured there was a purpose, a reason behind it. I expected he was grooming me for military service, thought he would send me to the manor to start as a guardsman, thinking I would work my way up to sergeant at arms maybe. If I was lucky, Lord Baldwin would be called to service and I’d go along. If I was really lucky, I’d do something heroic on the field and King Urith would knight me. That’s what I thought my father was thinking anyway.”
“What was he thinking?”
Hadrian shook his head slowly as he looked out at the lake far below. “I don’t know. But when I was fifteen, I asked when I would apply to the manor. Most boys started as pages much younger-fifteen was the age to sign up to be a squire if you were noble, or man-at-arms if you weren’t. My father said I wasn’t ever going to the manor. I wasn’t going to Aquesta either. I wasn’t going anywhere. He wanted me to replace him as the town blacksmith when he got too old to swing the hammer.”
“Then why’d he train you like that?”
“He never told me.” Hadrian popped the last of the berries into his mouth and chewed.
“So that’s when you left.”
“No. I was in love with a girl in the village-maybe not love, but as close as I’ve ever been, I suppose. I was going to marry her.”
“What stopped you?”
“I got in a fight with my rival-nearly killed him.”
“So?”
“He was also my best friend. We were both in love with her. Hintindar is a small place and didn’t have a future for me. I figured everyone would be better off if I left-me included. So I hiked out and joined the army. Been fighting ever since.”
Far below, two perhaps three miles away, Royce noticed a dozen men moving along the road. One was on horseback wearing black plate armor and a red cloak. The rest were footmen, some with pikes and some with bows. Out in front was a pack of hounds.
“What is it?” Hadrian asked.
“They’ve got dogs-I hate dogs.”
“Who does?”
“That patrol.” Royce gestured down toward the valley.
Hadrian peered out. “What patrol?”
“The huge patrol down there.”
Hadrian squinted and shrugged.
“Trust me, there’s a dozen or so footmen and a knight wearing black armor, so he might even be the seret you met at the tavern. You didn’t leave anything at the tavern, did you?”
“What do you mean?”
“When you dressed my wound, what did you do with the part of your cloak that was around me? Did you leave it behind?”
“Didn’t see any point in bringing a bloody rag.”
“Damn.”
“What? They have hounds?” Hadrian asked. “The dogs are hounds?”
“Yep.”
“But dogs can’t scent in the rain, right?”
“No … of course not.” Royce didn’t really know but he wanted it to be true.
“What are they doing?”
“Just walking.”
“Where?”
“Right below us.”
As Royce watched, the dogs veered off the road into the brush on their side. “Uh-oh.”
“Uh-oh, what?”
Royce lost sight of them as they disappeared under the heather. A moment later he heard them bay.
“Did I hear something?” Hadrian asked.
“They have us.” Royce pushed himself up, feeling dizzy the moment he did.
“I thought hounds couldn’t scent in the rain.”
“These can.”
Royce staggered up the slope, feeling like someone was sticking a hot blade in his stomach.
“We can’t outrun them, can we?” Hadrian asked, catching up.
“Not even if we were healthy.”
Behind them, the baying of the hounds blended into the rain and the sound of ringing bells.
Hadrian reached the crest of the hill first. “A farm!”
“Horses?”
“Not even a mule.”
Royce looked back and saw the patrol rushing up the hillside. The knight was out in front just behind the dogs. He didn’t think they could see them yet, but they would soon.
“Maybe we can hide in the farm?”
“Farm? What’s their crop? Rocks?” Royce asked.
“Better than getting caught in the open.”
The land wasn’t rocky so much as filled with rocks, which lay scattered on the grass like the remains of a stony hailstorm gathering mostly in gullies and at the bottoms of hills. They worked as effective obstacles, preventing anything close to sure footing as the two blundered down the slope.
Not surprisingly, the farmhouse, the barn, and even the silo were built of stacked stone. A rambling wall corralled a small flock of sheep, and there were a half-dozen chickens wandering the space between the house and the barn where numerous puddles formed in the mud to either side of a stony path.
Smoke rose from the chimney that poked out of the thatch roof, and both men made for the front door. Hadrian paused to knock. Royce walked in. An elderly man seated at a weathered table and a woman working near the hearth started at his appearance.
“Don’t move or you’ll die,” Royce said, struggling to stand upright and gritting his teeth to manage it. That was fine, clenched teeth just made him more menacing.
Hadrian followed him in. “Sorry about the intrusion.”
A boy around the age of ten trotted from one of the back rooms and halted, wide-eyed. The old man grabbed his wrist and jerked him to his side. White-haired and balding, the man moved quicker than Royce might have expected. He wasn’t as old as he looked.